


Precision of language, Sasha.

by AaliyahManira



Series: Solsken & Ryss [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blake is a good boy, Boys In Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Research, Word Games, for science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:05:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaliyahManira/pseuds/AaliyahManira
Summary: If you couldn't say red, or love, or music, how would you describe them to someone else?Or, Sasha helps a friend with grad school work and reminds Nicky he's a sap.





	Precision of language, Sasha.

“Why we have to do this, it is boring,” Alex flops dramatically down on the couch and stretches out, forever taking up too much space. From her place on the floor by the coffee table, Ali laughs and rolls her eyes, typing away on her computer without looking at her screen.

“You have to do it because you’re my friend and I need help,” she says patiently, glancing back down and stabbing irritably at the backspace button to erase half a line of nonsense. Alex sighs dramatically.

“But why in _English?”_ he whines, throwing an arm over his eyes and crossing his legs.

“Because my Russian doesn’t need practicing and your English does. You big baby,” Alex flips her off without looking and his dog jumps up, licking cheerfully at his hand until he’s rewarded with head scratches. Alex drops the arm from over his eyes, huffs, and turns his head to the side so he can see Ali, cross-legged on the rug.

“Fine. What first?” she smiles triumphantly and does a small victory dance, tapping out the last of a paragraph and switching documents.

“Music,” she says simply, hands hovering over the keyboard. Alex nods and runs his hand down Blake’s back, rubbing until he melts into the floor and stays there.

“Music is…” he starts, pausing for a few seconds and scratching absently at his chest. “Is the roar of the fans in the crowd at a game, way they scream and clap and yell. Is the way skates sound on ice, sharp and clean. Is the way puck sounds on glass, on boards, on goalpost and goalie’s pads. Is the sound when it’s starting to storm and the rain is tapping on the windows like it is scared. Is the sound of Nicky’s breathing when he’s sleeping after migraine wears off and the sound of his voice when I wake up in the morning. That enough?” Ali nods, typing rapidly to put down his words before she forgets anything and then looking up.

“I like that. Now, soft.” Alex folds his hands on his stomach and says the word to himself a few times under his breath. For a second Ali wonders if she’s going to have to remind him to use his English, but she doesn’t.

“Is what skin feels like under the callouses on my hands. How feels to touch hair, and touch Nicky’s hair when I hide his gel from him. Is how sheets feel like, and sweaters, and really nice underwear. Is the way you talk when you are almost asleep or when someone is sleeping near you. Is the way you kiss when you say I love you or good morning or goodbye. It’s the air moving—the breeze—on the beach when the sun is down and the way the water tickles your toes. It’s Blake’s fur and baby’s heads and the way you laugh at me for being stupid. It’s Nicky’s voice,” Alex looks like he could keep going but stops and snaps his mouth shut. Ali types until she’s caught up, a small smile on her face, and then diligently moves on.

“Black,” Alex nods.

“Is a witch’s cat. Pucks and skates and skies in the middle of the night. Is hockey pads and stick handles and the middle of your eye. Is my hair before it turn silver and the color of stitches after take puck to the face. Is the color you think the ocean is, or a lake, or a window, when you see it at night and the first thing people say about a heart that doesn’t feel. It is a tv screen and the print of a book and the ink in my tattoos. What you wear for funerals and what I wore to my wedding, when Nicky said I couldn’t wear red. It’s your hair until the light hits it and the polish on your fingers,” Alex’s eyes are closed, but he opens them when he hears her laugh. She stops typing long enough to pick at a flaking bit of her nail polish and push a strand of her hair away from her face.

“Yellow,” she says, shifting up onto her knees to relieve the pressure on her hips.

“Sunshine, when it’s warm outside. Flowers and bumble bees and the color of skin when the summer ends and everyone comes back to us. Is the color of the Penguins sleeves and the Preds home jerseys and the big ‘B’ the Bruins wear on their chests. Is the flowers you send friends or people who disappoint you and the color of peeps when Americans celebrate Easter. It’s smiley face cookies and Nicky’s curls and the feeling you get when you so happy you could burst,” he stops, shifts, and rolls onto his side so he doesn’t have to crane his neck. She smiles and shakes her head.

“Please know that I find it _so cute_ that Nicky’s curls and being so happy you could burst went together. You’ve mentioned them at least twice since we started. I love it,” she bites down on the end of her tongue and makes a face at her computer screen, typing and re-typing a word until she gets it right. “Red.” Alex laughs.

“The stands at every home game, our jerseys when we play. The color of the goal posts and the faceoff circles, and the line at center ice. Is the color tie Nicky wore at our wedding and the color of his mouth when I kiss him too long against the hotel room door. Is the color of Crosby’s face when I say dirty things in Russian and he understands because Zhenya says them too. Is the bite marks on Nicky’s shoulders and the scratches on my back. Is blood on the ice and blood in your cheeks when you come off a shift that is too long. Is the way you feel when angry enough to yell and scream and be so mad you could break anything you touched. It’s what stops me from touching Nicky, when I know I could break him too,” Alex’s voice trails off and Ali knows better than to ask. She types out his words with quick strokes and then looks up, sitting back on her feet.

“Last one,” she says with a smile, “Love.”

“Easy. You do hard ones first on purpose,” Alex narrows his eyes at her and she feigns innocence, flashing her sweetest smile and running her fingers over the rug under her knees.

“Love is,” he starts, closing his eyes again. “Knowing that neither of you is perfect and doing it anyway. Is the way heart stops when Nicky falls down on the ice after big hit and the way it flies out of my chest when he does good thing. Is waking up every day and going to Kettler to play hockey. Is knowing Nicky’s not a morning person and letting him be grumpy for as long as he needs to,” behind them, Nicky closes the front door and sets his keys on the table. Ali looks up at him and smiles, raising one hand to her lips so he knows to be quiet. He doesn’t make a sound as he leans against the wall and watches them.

“Is being angry about game or about stupid thing that happen, but coming home and curling up on the couch with Nicky even if he the one who did stupid thing. Is being sad and feeling better when Nicky is around, because I’m know I’m not alone. Is arguing about dinner and dishes and speed limits and terrible music in the car,” he stops and Ali keeps typing, waiting for him to decide whether he has more to say.

“Is when home is person, not place,” he says softly. Ali smiles into her computer screen and Nicky shakes his head, a fond smile of his own pulling at his mouth.

“What are you two doing?” Alex sits up so fast he scares the dog awake and shoves a hand through his hair when the fond smile on Nicky’s face gives away what he’s just heard. Ali rolls her eyes and looks at Nicky, hands folded loosely in her lap.

“It’s a word game I came up with for my thesis project. I give you a word, and you describe it to me without actually saying the word. I’m studying the imprecision of language. Sasha agreed to be one of my victims,” Nicky pushes off the wall and drops down into the chair closest to the door, long legs stretched out in front of him.

“What word was that one?” Alex tangles his fingers together and twists his ring absently.

“Love,” he says softly, bringing his eyes up to meet Nicky’s and trying to pretend his cheeks aren’t burning. Nicky smiles.

“Can I do one?” Ali nods and looks down at her list, tucked halfway beneath the edge of her keyboard on the surface of the table.

“Blue,” she says softly, tapping down and typing his name on a new line in her word document.

“I just tell you about it, without saying the word ‘blue’, right?” Ali nods. “Blue is the color of the logo on the front of our jerseys and the head of the eagle on our shoulders. It’s the sky in the middle of the day and the ocean all the time. It’s the color of Braden’s crease and the lines painted on the ice. It’s the Pens ugly third sweaters and the color bruises turn before they fade away. It’s the feeling you get when you love someone and they’re hurting too much for you to fix it, and the feeling in your chest when you think they’re really gone. It’s the tips of your fingers when you spend too much time out in the snow and the color your blood is before it runs,” he stops long enough to smile, “It’s the color of Sasha’s eyes before the pupils swallow them whole.”

“I didn’t give that one to Sasha because I was afraid he was going to say it was the color of his balls when you were gone for too long and I did _not_ want to have to explain to the professor I’m working with why we had to put that in the official results,” Nicky snorts and doubles over laughing, Sasha makes an indignant sound in the back of his throat, and Blake woofs to tell her he agrees.

“Please,” Nicky says when he’s finally managed a full breath of air. He wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes and shakes his head. “Sasha hasn’t had blue balls in over a decade.” Ali shifts off her knees and drops to her ass on the ground with a thud, laughing so hard that tears run down her cheeks.

“That is not true!” Sasha squawks, pointing intensely at Nicky and turning a brilliant red. Nicky arches an eyebrow and tries to stifle the rest of his laughter, but fails and burst out into another fit of half-giggles.

“If you needed another example of love,” Ali says softly, gathering a suddenly excited Blake in her arms and talking right into his big black face, “that’s the best one I’ve ever seen. Do you agree?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the premise of my real-life grad school thesis, which is happening in my real life right now, so I thought I'd use it for something fun. You know, for science.  
> If you're that way inclined, feel free to complete the survey yourself:  
> https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/5PWCXWN  
> It's ten questions and all you have to do is describe the word without using the word. If you read the piece you probably get the idea. If you have any questions you can shoot me a message on tumblr @AaliyahManira.


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